


A Series of Unfortunate Event Horizons

by irrationalgame



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Whump, first-time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9681296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: It was an ongoing joke amongst the marines that AR-1 was some sort of magnet for trouble and that they were vastly more likely to run into problems off world than all the other teams put together. John had laughed along for a few months, but then it had started to grate on his nerves every time Lorne was called in to save them and the marines struggled to hide their guffaws and rolled-eyes. It finally irritated him enough to convince (bribe) Rodney to run the numbers and John was both disappointed and annoyed when it turned out to be true.In which AR-1 gets into trouble, Rodney and John save each other repeatedly and everyone figures it out before they do.My first McShep fic - be gentle with me!





	1. Chapter 1

The 'gate was broken, or stuck, or having an 'error: 404 address not found' moment or something - Rodney hadn't been able to determine exactly what was wrong with it yet as both his hands and most of his attention were taken up on stopping the worryingly heavy flow of red from Sheppard's shredded right thigh - because yes yes, he was a doctor (doctor doctor actually, two PhDs), but not that kind of doctor, thus all he could do was press a field dressing against Sheppard's wound as the Colonel fired deafening shots of over his head in a probably vain attempt to push back whoever was trying to kill them this time. 

"McKay," Sheppard ground out between short bursts of fire, "the 'gate McKay!"

"I may be a genius but even I can only do one thing at a time here - if I let go of your thigh, well you - you're going to bleed out on this worthless rock and-"

"Rodney," Sheppard interrupted grimly, "if you don't fix the 'gate we will both be dead anyway."

Rodney fought the urge to throw up his hands in annoyance as it would mean relinquishing his grip on Sheppard's thigh; "If I let go, you're dead. In which case I'll probably get captured or, or, tortured or killed, or worse. And if I don't let go, well we're both dead anyway, so excuse me for not, you know, having a plan right this second. Because, err, rock, meet the hard place."

Sheppard gazed briefly at Rodney's hands on his inner thigh and quirked his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Oh for the love of," Rodney started, irritated that even now, in a literal life or death situation, Sheppard could be so flippant and - and oh, wait, was he flirting? Rodney train of thought was cut short by the sound of Sheppard's P-90 firing incredibly close to his ear; more damage to his already abused eardrums. 

"Wait," Sheppard held up his hand, signalling for Rodney to shut up and listen. Rodney was getting pretty au fait with the quaint little military hand signals, even if they were ridiculous. He briefly considered writing a new and improved code, but decided he had better things to waste his time on. Like cataloging his underwear by colour. Or listening to Radek talk about pigeons again. 

Silence; except for Rodney's incessant inner monologue. 

"Looks like they've fallen back, for now at any rate," Sheppard said.

"And aren't you glad I didn't let you bleed to death," Rodney tsked, more relieved than he was willing to admit. Because really, if he was honest with himself he knew he'd never leave Sheppard to die alone, even if it meant his own incredibly untimely demise, as much as a loss to science (and the intellectual community at large) as that would be. He sat down heavily at the realisation; he was a coward and he knew it (hello! Scientist here, not Lara Croft) except for when it really mattered, and John Sheppard, Colonel Hair-Gel, with his sarcastic comments and his stupid quirky expressions and his martyr-level heroics and his frankly ridiculous hair - was what really mattered. More than his own life. He wasn't sure when that had happened - when John had become more important to Rodney than Rodney - but the truth of it struck him the same way scientific revelations did; slowly, burning and blurry at the edge of his brain and the tip of his tongue before blossoming into a perfect, undeniable clarity of thought. If it wasn't such a cliché Rodney would have shouted 'eureka!'. Sans nudity. 

"You alright buddy?" Sheppard asked, his brow creased with pain and/or concern; Rodney wasn't sure which. Probably pain, given their situation.

"Yes yes, I'm not the one with a newly mangled femoral artery," he hissed, but no, no, no - he wasn't alright. He had, well, feelings towards and about John, and they weren't the sorts of feelings he was used to having towards people; he was more accustomed to annoyance, anger, irritation, rage and occasionally pity. But this - this warmth of feeling was rarer than a glamour model at a physics convention. Sheppard looked at him intently, perhaps sensing the lie (Rodney could admit he was an awful liar), then gave a casual shrug.

"Let me take over," Sheppard drawled, as if it were nothing more serious than taking charge of brewing a pot of coffee (even though, actually, there is a science to good coffee) rather than stopping himself from becoming exsanguinated. Sheppard dropped his firearm and pressed his hands directly over Rodney's; worryingly, they were cold and trembling. 

"You do realise I will be most offended and irritated if you die and I have to drag your corpse through the wormhole," Rodney said. "I'll count it as a personal insult." If there was one thing that was guaranteed to cheer Sheppard up, it was one of their not-quite-serious arguments.

"Its nice to know you care," Sheppard's said, taking the bait. His mouth twitched into a smirk and Rodney found he couldn't tear his eyes from the cleft in John's lower lip or his hands from the warmth of his (ok bleeding, gross, but still) firm thigh. 

"I do, actually," Rodney finally removed his hands - they were wet with the Colonel's blood. "Apply pressure, firmly," he directed and Sheppard gave a little grunt of pain as he complied. "I may not be the most gregarious of people and of course no one has ever accused me of being sentimental-" Rodney paused to wipe his hands on his tac vest "- but I do care about some things."

"Like, oh I dunno, science?" Sheppard said dryly. 

"Of course my work is of upmost importance to me," Rodney gestured, "as it should be. But no, I was thinking more of, ah, interpersonal relationships."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes; "Friends?"

Rodney sighed dramatically; "Well if you want to put it in words even a three year old can understand, then yes. I...I care about my friends."

"Great," Sheppard said sardonically. "Care enough to fix the damn 'gate?"

"Oh!" Rodney said, shocked into action. "Of course!"

It turned out that someone (more than likely the idiotic and murderous natives) had taken a control crystal out of the DHD and put it in backwards - probably in a feeble attempt to stop the Atlantis team from escaping, although why they hadn't simply taken the crystal with them or hidden it or something was a mystery. But then, stupidity knows no bounds, even across galaxies. 

Rodney and Sheppard had limped back through the gate, with the latter leaning heavily against Rodney's side, his lean-but-muscular arm (Rodney grimaced; when had he started thinking of John in such ridiculous terms?) draped around Rodney's broad shoulders, to find Ronon, Teyla, Lorne and a team of Marines waiting to come back through the 'gate. Of course, the DHD tampering off-world had stopped them and they were searching the database for the nearest space 'gate so they could take a Jumper and mount what would have been a late but undoubtably heroic rescue of their corpses. Sheppard was whisked away by Carson and his team, who quickly started work on the Colonel's leg - Carson's tone was calm as ever, but Rodney caught the worried look he shot one of his nameless underlings. 

It was bad. Bad in a way that made Rodney's throat close up like he'd just downed a litre of orange juice, pulp and all.

Woolsey tried to catch Rodney in the Gateroom for his report, but he flapped his hands at him and said "Later, later, later," in a tone that Woolsey had learned (finally!) meant he had more chance of telepathically lifting Rodney's report from his mind than getting him to stop and debrief. He followed Sheppard to the medical bay - it was alive with a blur of scrubs and trolleys. 

"Not now Rodney," Carson said firmly.

"Is he going to be, ah, alright then?" Rodney asked, ignoring the nurse who rudely bumped into him with a tray of gleaming, sharp instruments - he was sure the medical team had been treating him with less than professional conduct ever since the unpleasantness with Jennifer.

"I need to operate, now," Carson shook his head, "well I needed to operate ten minutes ago really so I'll have to fill you in later, if you don't mind." And with that the doctor turned and left, wheeling Sheppard's now unconscious form into the operating theatre. Rodney sat down heavily and let one of Carson's underlings prod him, but refused to answer their pointless questions; he was fine, just fine. It was John - stupid, self-endangering John who needed attention. Idiotic, irritating John - who had somehow tricked Rodney into developing feelings for him, and who had bled so much he'd stained Rodney's hands and clothes a patchy crimson. 

It was going to be a long wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It probably spoke volumes about life in the Pegasus Galaxy that John found the rhythmic beeps and quiet droning of the medical bay equipment soothing.

John awoke incrementally to the familiar sounds of the medical bay. It probably spoke volumes about life in the Pegasus Galaxy that he found the rhythmic beeps and quiet droning of the equipment soothing - he figured he'd spent as much time on a gurney as he had on missions. 

He squinted against the glare of the overhead lights, which seemed harsher than usual - everything else in the medical ward was woolly and blurred around the edges, courtesy of John's old friend morphine. As he tried to shift position a burning poker of red hot pain shot through his thigh, bringing the world back into stark focus. John had been shot (and stunned; and stabbed; and beaten) a lot in his career and he was grateful for the high tolerance for pain he had developed - he simply grimaced and dragged himself into a sitting position with uncharacteristically weak arms.

Even through the haze of pain and drugs John could hear Rodney arguing, presumably with Beckett, somewhere out of his line of sight.

"Well that's not really a good enough reason to keep me out here in the realm of the 'casual acquaintance' is it?! Because if he's unconscious how exactly will I be 'disturbing' him?" Rodney whined and John could practically hear the air quotes. "I don't think it's possible to talk someone conscious."

John smirked; Rodney was more likely to talk someone unconscious. Or make them wish they were unconscious.

"He's too weak for visitors Rodney," Beckett tried to reason; John could picture Rodney's irritated wild gesturing and Beckett's long suffering frown. 

"It's not like I'm going to take him on a jog!" Rodney snapped. "Look, I," he sighed, then continued more calmly, "I just want to - I need to see that he's alright, ok? Please I..."

"Send him in Beckett," John called - he'd been aiming for a yell but had only managed a croak as his mouth and throat were parched in way that signified he'd been unconscious for a while. Still, it did the trick; both Rodney and Beckett immediately appeared at his bedside. 

"You're awake," Rodney said, his blue eyes appraising John's condition. His mouth settled into a slanted, unhappy line. 

"I am," John smiled, "and I'm fine." 

Rodney and Beckett both looked suitably unconvinced. 

"Ok, apart from the unbearable pain in my leg," John cocked an eyebrow, "which I'd appreciate some help with, Doc." Beckett nodded and went, ostensibly to find more painkillers. 

"I, er, you've been unconscious for two days," Rodney stated, his hands fluttering. 

"Sorry about that," John replied, "but y'know, mortally wounded and all. I thought I'd take a couple of days off. I think I've earned it." Rodney had at least a day's worth of soft stubble on his chin, wild hair and blue hollows under his eyes; he'd probably sat in the medical bay for two straight days. He visibly vibrated too; John guessed he was awake only through extreme caffeination and stubbornness. 

"No it's - I'm just glad you're awake now," Rodney said, then quietly added; "I was getting worried."

And there was something - something in the way he said 'worried' that made John narrow his eyes and sit up a little straighter in the bed: "Worried I'd die and you'd have to deal with a CO who wouldn't put up with your constant whining," John joked, but he watched Rodney closely. Rodney didn't laugh or roll his eyes or start on a tirade of abuse. 

Something was very off. 

"No John," Rodney said, his voice strained. And now he had John's full attention because damn, John could count the number of times McKay had used his first name on one hand, and it was usually only under extreme stress or dire peril. Only there didn't seem to be either stress or peril happening right now - give it five minutes though, they were in the Pegasus galaxy after all. Unless you counted John's injury, although he was clearly out of the woods. 

"Rodney," John started, and he was sure he had planned to follow that with more words, but they slipped away as Rodney closed his fingers around John's wrist.

"Don't do that again," Rodney said quietly, his eyes on the place where his deft fingers were pressing against John's skin, as if he was only just realising that he had actually put the hand there himself. 

"I'll try," John said, his voice low, "it's not exactly a fun day at the farm for me either, y'know."

"Then stop - ah, just stop with the martyr complex, ok?" Rodney huffed. "You don't always have to 'save the day' at your own expense."

"If I don't, who will?" John shook his head and Rodney released his grip on John's wrist; he'd been holding on so tightly he'd left red indentations in the pale, fragile skin there. 

For once, Rodney didn't have an answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I mean a pit, come on!" Rodney griped. "What, we're not even good enough for a windowless prison anymore?"

Of course, despite being mortally injured only weeks beforehand, Sheppard couldn't go five minutes without throwing himself into some gung-ho, commando, GI Joe suicide mission; Teyla had been captured by the 'tree-people' of MX2-165. Lorne had traded with them before and they were usually pretty friendly, but they had thought the Athosian was their Goddess incarnate and they weren't too happy that she had refused to take the throne and the virginity of the tribe's greatest warrior. Rodney couldn't see what the problem was - he wouldn't mind being offered Kingship and the virginity of attractive princes - or princesses - once in a while. It would make a nice change from all the threats, torture and near-death experiences. 

Anyway, apparently the abdication and ensuing abduction had become reasonable motivation for a) a ridiculous rescue plan from Sheppard and b) murder in the eyes of the primordial knuckle-draggers who called themselves the Thuluia. They had, obviously, been captured; the Thuluia had taken Teyla and Ronon god-knows-where before throwing Sheppard and Rodney into a suitably dark and dank pit, complete with movie cliché spikes. 

"I mean a pit, come on!" Rodney griped. "What, we're not even good enough for a windowless prison anymore?"

Sheppard groaned from the muddy floor, pulling himself to his knees but no further. "Look on the bright side; we're still alive and It's sorta like an Indiana Jones movie, if you squint a little."

Rodney squinted in the gloom; nope, no glamorous nazi chicks, no whips and no monkey brains. Still a pit. A pit that was beginning to fill with rain water. "I suppose that makes you Indie in this scenario?"

"And you're...Short Round," John smirked. 

"I'm at least Marion," Rodney grumbled and Sheppard let loose one of his ridiculous guffawing laughs.

"I hate to bring down the mood and all," Sheppard said, still smirking, "but I sort of, well, impaled myself a little bit. Now don't freak out or anything."

"How am I supposed to not freak out when you are a human kebab?" Rodney screeched, his voice rising an entire octave. He fumbled in the gloom until he found the offending pit-spike; it was embedded in, of all places, Sheppard's backside. "Oh crap," Rodney grimaced, "what do I do?"

"Well we can't leave it there; it's kind of a pain in the ass," Sheppard grinned and Rodney groaned. 

"I can't believe you went there," he said, rolling his eyes. 

"I'm not afraid of making an ass of myself," Sheppard said with a shrug and Rodney couldn't help but smirk. "And I promise I'll never make another wisecrack about that time you got shot in the ass with an arrow. I know how you hate being the butt of everyone's jokes."

"Oh my - you must stop," Rodney said, "before I decide to just leave you there. In all seriousness, should I - ah, pull you off?"

Sheppard nodded grimly and held his hands out towards Rodney; "It's not in deep. You'll have to put a field dressing on for me though - it's not really an area I can help myself with."

A field dressing. 

On Sheppard's 'gluteus maximus'. 

Rodney felt his face flush red at the thought - thankfully the gloom of the pit saved him from any further embarrassment. "Two PHD's and I'm stuck in a muddy pit pulling pointy sticks out of your rear end in this god-forsaken hell hole. It's so not what I signed up for," he said, hoping his usual bluster would cover his discomfort. Rodney grasped Sheppard's hands and pulled, his boots sliding in the inch-deep mud.

"Seems fitting, if you ask me," Sheppard replied, holding on to Rodney's sleeves. "I mean you are an ass-tro-physicist after all."

"Ha ha," Rodney braced his feet against the walls of the pit and heaved Sheppard free of the spike with a grunt. "You're hilarious." The momentum of the pull and the lack of traction underfoot sent Sheppard toppling forwards; he landed neatly in McKay's arms, pressing the scientist into the muddy wall behind him with a squelch.

"Good catch," Sheppard said, his breath warm against Rodney's cheek. They were so close that Rodney could feel the slightly-too-fast beating of the Colonel's heart against his ribcage. Or maybe it was actually Rodney's own heart? Whatever - the point was that they were so close, he couldn't tell whose heartbeat was whose and hello, wow awkwardly arousing. 

"Unsurprisingly, sports aren't one of my many talents," Rodney shrugged, which was difficult when he was effectively pinned against (and sinking in to, gross) a muddy wall by the weight of Sheppard's body. "And just because I actually caught you, don't think that doesn't mean I can't fumble and drop you in the next three seconds and get booed off the field and later have my clothes stolen whilst I'm showering and have to wear sweats five sizes too big and a sparkly girls sweater that smells peculiarly of wet carpet for the rest of the day because that's all they had in lost-and-found."

"Wow," Sheppard replied, still pressed against Rodney and making no obvious signs that he might move, "That was oddly specific. I guess high school was kind of a bitch for you, huh?"

Rodney grimaced at the memory of being the youngest, smartest and most hated kid in the whole school. Even the nerds, who had at first flocked to the child prodigy McKay, had gradually drifted away, annoyed by his (completely deserved!) superiority. "You could say that. Let's just say my head was intimately aquatinted with the inside of every toilet bowl on campus. I bet high school was a walk in the park for Colonel Charisma McHotness."

"You do realise I wasn't a colonel in high school, right?" Sheppard drawled, finally managing to regain his footing.

"No, of course, it must have been such a difficult time for you being star quarterback and homecoming king and all," Rodney mocked. He found a field dressing stuffed in one of his pockets and ripped off the wrapper; the Thuluia had taken his actual medical kit, along with his weapons and, most annoyingly, his tablet.

"I was too small for football," Sheppard shrugged, undoing his belt, "didn't actually play until I was in college, and even then I never made quarterback." He unclipped his empty thigh holster and let it fall into the mud. "And we moved around so much when I was a kid that I never got chance make real friends." 

"Huh," Rodney replied, surprised by Sheppard's candour. Getting Sheppard to talk about himself was like trying to...well, get Ronon to talk about himself; pointless and potentially dangerous to your health.

Then Sheppard pulled down his pants. 

"What are you doing?!" Rodney screeched. "I know we were having a moment there or something, but don't you think that's a little inappropriate considering our current circumstances? And not to mention forward even by your standards, Kirk?!"

Sheppard paused, the waistband of his pants caught around his knees. "Having a moment?"

"Of course, that's the point you latched on to!"

Sheppard just shook his head. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head on the way down here? So, I'm going to pretend that didn't happen and continue taking my clothes off so you can apply a field dressing to my ass and stop me from bleeding to death."

Rodney blanched. Of course, Sheppard was being annoyingly pragmatic rather than making some sort of bizarre pass at him, which was strangely disappointing. Rodney pushed up his sleeves, literally and metaphorically.

And, of course, they were found by Lorne and his team of marines just as Rodney was pressing the field dressing on to the extremely painful looking wound on Sheppard's buttock, the lights on their P90's illuminating the whole spectacular scene for everyone to see. 

Ronon, Lorne and Zelenka made a series of terrible ass puns for the following three weeks; even Teyla joined in with the 'good-natured ribbing', until Rodney's mood became so sour that members of the science team started volunteering for dangerous off-world missions just to escape his ire.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Every word I utter is completely necessary to the continuing success of the expedition," Rodney said. 
> 
> "Sure it is," John replied, "like that time you listed all twenty-six reasons why the belief system of the tribal elder on MP-5287 was wrong. And then they put us all in the giant cauldron. That was totally necessary."

It was an ongoing joke amongst the marines that AR-1 was some sort of magnet for trouble and that they were vastly more likely to run into trouble off world than all the other teams put together. John had laughed along for a few months, but then it had started to grate on his nerves every time Lorne was called in to save them and the marines struggled to hide their guffaws and rolled-eyes. It finally irritated him enough to convince (bribe) Rodney to run the numbers and John was both disappointed and annoyed when it turned out to be true. He reasoned it was mainly because he kept the most dangerous missions for himself, but a huge chunk of the problem missions had been caused by what Teyla liked to call 'cultural misunderstandings' - read: Rodney did/said something vastly inappropriate, like cursing the native's gods or manhandling sacred icons. 

Their current predicament, however, was sort of John's fault because, ok, maybe - just maybe - John had taken his eye off the ball for a moment. 

But the natives of MX3-921- the 'Mhaiore' - had immediately bought in to John's particular brand of bullshit and the trade-cum-ally talks were going about as well as they ever did; if there were no hiccups the population of Atlantis would soon be eating their way through an overabundance of hairy, pig-like creatures called 'Sussoc' in exchange for some basic tech and medical supplies. 

And it was hot on MX3-921 - dry and dusty in a way that reminded John too much of Afghanistan for comfort - and the tanned hide shelters of the natives only seemed to amp up the heat to unbearable levels until John was sweaty and sluggish and tired. There had been a run of problems, both off-world and in Atlantis itself, and John couldn't have had more than eight hours sleep the whole week. Rodney was pretty strung out too and had clearly given up the pretence of listening a good while ago, preferring to slouch groggily on one of the carved wooden benches, his mouth hanging open unhappily in a vain effort to reduce his body temperature. If Ronon was bothered at all by the weather conditions then he didn't show it; his boredom, however, was all too apparent by the slope of his shoulders and the glazing of his usually watchful eyes. At least Teyla could be relied upon to act interested in whatever tale the elder was spinning, her bright smile still stuck in the same position it had been since they'd reached the settlement and had been greeted with friendly gestures instead of the all too common raised weapons and running for their lives. 

John took his sweaty palm off the butt of his P90 and let it swing at his side as he watched McKay - it was a pastime that had become all too familiar to John since Atlantis returned to the Pegasus galaxy and since Rodney had left Keller back on earth. When John had (casually and with plenty of slouching) pressed him about the break up Rodney had said; "It just wasn't going to work," waving one of his ever-moving hands dismissively. But he'd given John a look - his eyes bright, not pinched around the edges as they had been during the last few weeks of his relationship with Keller - that said something more. Something John hadn't dared to examine too closely because god knows, he was treading on thin ice as it was. 

He needed more time, more sleep, less 'life-threatening danger' and for the Daedalus to return with another shipment of beer, before he could even let himself start considering...feelings. John liked thinking and/or talking about his feelings about as much as he liked big, neck-chomping bugs. Which was not at all.

Rodney stretched sluggishly and pulled out his tablet; he waved it around with a scowl, muttering something about the complete uselessness of planets with no technology and wasting his valuable time. John couldn't suppress a smile - irritated Rodney was unfathomably attractive. Rodney caught John's look of amusement and huffed - he appeared on the verge of a less than complimentary diatribe when the tablet beeped; he stopped and peered at the screen. 

"Huh," he frowned, tapping at the tablet a few times before his mouth dropped open, "wait, there's something..."

John sensed the change in mood in the tent and his hand was instantly on his weapon. It wasn't quick enough though - the telltale red dot of a laser sight had picked out a position on Rodney's shoulder and hovered there, like a bright fluttering insect. On any other day he'd have put a bullet in the leader before he'd had a chance to make his move, but he was just so tired, physically and mentally, that he'd let down his guard. It was a rookie mistake. A stupid, lazy mistake that he hoped they wouldn't pay for in blood. 

"Do not move, Sheppard," the Mhaiore elder said, pulling a gun from beneath the swaddle of his robes; John recognised it as Genii in origin. "We have heard of your duplicitous ways from our allies -" he was interrupted by a shriek from McKay who had finally noticed the laser dot on his tac vest. More natives quickly surrounded the team, weapons drawn from swathed waists and draped sleeves. 

"The Genii aren't exactly a reliable source," John replied, slowly raising his hands. Ronon reticently followed John's lead, letting his gun drop into the dirt, boredom hastily replaced by anger. "And maybe you didn't get the latest edition of the Pegasus newsletter, but it's all good between the Genii and Atlantis now. We're practically best buddies with Radim."

"We do not deal with the traitor Ladon Radim," the elder spat, "he is not true to the cause."

"Whatever they have told you has been tainted by their own agenda," Teyla said, her voice soft and placating. Ronon gave John a questioning look that said do we take these guys or not? and John shook his head slightly. No matter how quickly they took out the Mhaiore, they wouldn't be faster than the unseen sniper. Thankfully the big Satedan took the hint. 

"We have more firepower and technology than the Genii - I assure you we'd make better allies than they do," John said with an implied threat. 

"Enough of your meaningless words," the elder said, unwilling to listen to reason. "Perhaps a demonstration of our 'inferior' firepower is needed to make our intentions clear." 

John saw the signal, the slight nod of the elder's head, and he dived for Rodney, pulling him halfway to the dusty ground. The shot went off and John's stomach dropped into his boots; Rodney had been hit. Rodney had been hit and it was his fault. Sure enough, the bloom of red on Rodney's BDU's confirmed it, although it was high on his shoulder rather than his chest; John's last-second heroics had put off the sniper's aim. There was a burst of noise and commotion in the tent behind him - guns firing and shouts of pain and the familiar and strangely comforting whump of Ronon's blaster. John manhandled Rodney the rest of the way to the tent floor, covering the scientist with his own body until the commotion died down and only Ronon and Teyla were still standing. 

"The sniper!" John shouted and Teyla and Ronon flattened themselves behind the meagre cover offered by the meeting table. 

"I'll get him. Cover me," Ronon grunted to Teyla; she obliged, firing in short bursts towards the dusty ridge above the camp. Of course, it was a perfect position for a sniper. John cursed internally; he should have seen it coming. He was supposed to keep them all safe. 

"They shot me," Rodney said incredulously. "Why did they shoot me?"

"Because you found something out, on your tablet," John said, ripping open a field dressing with his teeth. 

"Yes yes," Rodney said, his pale hands grasping at John's sleeve, "get on with it before I bleed to death. And all I found was this place has some deposits of naquadah."

"Well they clearly thought you found something more," John replied, pressing the dressing over Rodney's shoulder - Rodney whimpered in pain and gripped John's arm. "Which begs the question: what are they hiding?"

"I don't know," Rodney groaned, "I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, what with being shot and dying and all!"

"You are not dying," John said. Several distant shots from Ronon's blaster signalled the demise of the sniper. "You're going to be fine."

"What if I get an infection? Or some weird Pegasus disease that turns me into a bug? Or a parasite in my brain that makes me senile?" Rodney was getting hysterical now, clutching at John's arms like he was trying to save himself from drowning. "It's not like it'd be the first time!"

"Because I won't let that happen, OK?" John replied. He tied off the field dressing and grasped the panicking physicist by his shoulders. "I won't. I promise."

Rodney stilled beneath his hands. "Rationally, I know you have no control over these things, but that still makes me feel a little better." 

"Good," John said. Teyla had finished her sweep of the area and with a grim nod she headed back to the 'gate to get help. "It should."

"I'm glad we have this thing," Rodney added, and now it was John's turn to panic.

"Thing?" John said aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. 

"You know, where we save each other," Rodney continued. "I'm aware that I get myself - all of us actually - into trouble. I mean I just got myself shot and possibly started a war with yet another indigenous peoples."

"This wasn't your fault Rodney," John shook his head, "this was my fault. I'm in charge and I'm responsible for the safety of the whole team. Even astrophysicists with verbal diarrhoea." He paused and wiped his bloodied hands on his BDU's. "Especially astrophysicists with verbal diarrhoea."

"Not everything is your responsibility," Rodney replied. "I know you think it is, that you beat yourself up over every mistake and...wait, I do not have verbal diarrhoea!" He finished indignantly. "Every word I utter is completely necessary to the continuing success of the expedition."

"Sure it is," John replied, "like that time you listed all twenty-six reasons why the belief system of the tribal elder on MP-5287 was wrong. And then they put us all in the giant cauldron. That was totally necessary."

"Well, but," Rodney started and raised his chin as indignantly as a person who'd just been shot and was lying in the dirt could.

"And when we were arrested on PX-2215 and you told the Prime Minister his ideas were - and I quote - 'the muddled ramblings of a simple-minded throwback who couldn't run a race, let alone country and you were surprised he hadn't burned down his own meeting room, such was his stupidity.'" John smirked. "Yeah that was definitely necessary."

"Ah but...he was an idiot," Rodney shrugged. 

"And do you remember when the leader of MZ-4523b offered me his daughter and you snorted and said 'what as, livestock?' and we had to wait in that prison for three days whilst Teyla talked us out of it?"

"Ok, I get it," Rodney huffed, "Ive got a big mouth and I get us in to trouble. But at least I didn't fool around with the wife and the sister of that war lord on PZ-2219 and get myself hanged, Kirk."

John rubbed his neck at the memory and grimaced - it was lucky Ronon was such a good shot. And he hadn't even done anything; he'd turned both women down and they'd been so offended they'd ratted him out to their husband/brother. 

"Or the time that guy thought Teyla was your property and tried to swap her for some wine and you agreed." Rodney grinned, "I thought Teyla was going to kill you. And when the council on LV-84 said the Satedans had deserved to be culled because they were 'no better than cattle' and it took all three of us to drag Ronon away..."

"I'm beginning to think maybe we shouldn't go off world anymore," John frowned, "Lorne was right about us. We are magnets for trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah I've been fighting with this chapter for like a month but I've given in. It is what it is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AR-1 had been almost-murdered by a lot of different races and peoples and honestly, they all had their reasons. From where they were standing, John probably looked like the bad guy. Sometimes he almost sympathised with them.

Yeah, so the wraith might be terrifying space vampires, but at least John could understand their motives. They didn't exactly have a choice about being genocidal, life-sucking monsters; gotta kill to eat, gotta eat to live. Humans had committed genocide on earth for way less. And take the Genii - John understood them too, even if they were assholes. AR-1 had been almost-murdered by a lot of different races and peoples and honestly, they all had their reasons. From where they were standing, John probably looked like the bad guy. Sometimes he almost sympathised with them.

He had no such sympathy for wraith worshippers.

Their motives were purely selfish - they willingly sold their own peoples into slavery and death in order to save their own lives. As someone who held his own life in very low regard and who frequently risked it for the greater good, he just couldn't understand how they lived with themselves or how a person even starts down the road of thinking their existence was worth so much more than everyone else's.

John's low opinion of wraith worshippers was made lower still during his stay at the Adinaho work camp.

At the camp everyone worked harder than exhausted, malnourished people should be able to. They worked without complaint until their hands bled and their legs gave out from beneath them. And they kept their weary, collective heads down - both literally and figuratively speaking. No one sneezed unless they'd meekly asked permission first.

Regular public beatings could do that to people. 

And the promise of a one-way trip to the benignly named 'interview room' helped keep morale at an all-time low. The stories of what happened inside ranged from the mildly unpleasant to the frankly ridiculous, although John argued that seeing as no one had ever returned from the room, they actually had no idea what happened in there. He'd quipped that maybe it was really a day spa, but the joke fell spectacularly flat amongst a group of people who obviously had no concept of a) comedy and b) day spas.

Of course, the ever-present threat of being fed to the wraith overlords was another pretty strong deterrent.

Thus, John's attempts to rally some sort of coup-slash-escape had fallen on terrified ears. No one would even talk about disobedience lest they were overheard by one of the wraith-worshipping lunatic guards. Which, he supposed, made sense when you could be beaten half to death for tripping over and dropping the slop that passed for food. A cracked rib had taught him that lesson the hard way. 

Although just staying in the prison-cum-mine seemed to be equally dangerous to one's health. Based on the symptoms presented by many of the workers, the ore they extracted with ye olde pick-axes and mine carts gave off some kind of radiation. John had already lost a tooth and bouts of nausea visited him in occasional, body-racking waves. He had no idea what he long-term effects would be - Rodney, ever the hypochondriac, would know, if he were here.

John wished Rodney were here.

Which was ironic because John had taken a weapon that looked like a prop from an 80s horror movie to the shoulder and gotten himself captured to make sure Rodney didn't end up here.

Of course he didn't wish the beatings and the hunger and the blistered fingers and the radiation sickness on him. Not for a second. But, lord help him, he missed Rodney and the way he'd exclaim that escape would be impossible, bemoan the lack of resources and whine about always having to save the day, before promptly MacGuyvering them a way out.

John even missed Rodney's inevitable intolerable smugness. He missed being reminded every thirty seconds that everyone would have died umpteen times over if not for Rodney's massive intellect and skill. He longed for the debriefing where Rodney would undoubtedly exaggerate everything, both good and bad, until John wanted to press his mouth against Rodney's ever-mobile one just to shut him up.

John missed the way Rodney's never-ceasing barrage of words would somehow fill up the silence that had followed at John's heels for so many years, fill up the empty spaces in his heart and his brain until it didn't matter that John didn't have any words to describe exactly what he felt for the prickly, yet strangely endearing physicist, because Rodney did. He had them in abundance.

John was so screwed. He needed Rodney and as he had spent most of his adult life actively trying to avoid needing anyone, he had no idea how it had happened. 

oOo

The planet was, according to the ancient database, uninhabited, and the MALP had shown nothing to indicate the presence of people: merely a few 'interesting' energy readings that Rodney insisted were worthy of investigation. So it had come as a surprise when a mob of the indigenous people (who Sheppard now knew to be wraith-worshippers) had ambushed them not two clicks from the 'gate. There hadn't been time for a plan except to give the team cover on their retreat back to the 'gate - being harpooned like a friggin' whale for the second time in his life hadn't been in John's itinerary and had ultimately lead to his capture. Ronon's back disappearing into the blue pool of the event horizon was the last John had seen of AR-1.

That was ten days ago and John was starting to get a little desperate. Of course, Woolsey didn't know they were wraith worshippers and would probably be trying to negotiate John's release whilst Lorne and Ronon were no doubt needling him to get on with an actual rescue. With guns. Lots and lots of guns. John had faith they would get to him eventually, one way or another. What state he would be in physically by the time they did - well, he tried to not think about it. Surviving space vampires and Iratus bugs and alternative universes just to die of radiation poisoning would be, well, lame. 

And as time had passed and John had become 'attached' to his team - his family - in a way he'd never thought possible, he had become more cautious about courting death. Not because he feared death any more now he was in the Pegasus Galaxy than he ever had flying extraction missions across Afghanistan, but because now it mattered to other people if he came home at the end of a mission.

John grimaced; of course, back when he was flying all over the Middle East, it had mattered to Nancy if John had survived, but for some reason that had never made John hesitate before he took a mission or disobeyed orders or ran into the line of fire to pick up an injured comrade. If anything, it had made him more determined to take every possible risk. Now though, the thought of Teyla's tears or Ronon's anger or Rodney's devastation...it was too much. He'd felt and seen the fallout after Elizabeth and Beckett and he didn't want to be responsible for that. 

And the way Rodney had looked at him in that hospital bed when he'd begged John to stop being a martyr...he couldn't let McKay down like that. He wouldn't. 

Unfortunately, John had plenty of time to think about how he might just meet his end - what with his timetable being so chock full of exciting activities: he was either mining; eating in the dirty, silent mess-hall; mining, confined to his cell or yep, you guessed it; mining. And there were no bunk-mates here with whom he could while away the hours - just rows and rows of tiny dank rooms with heavily barred doors and hard, wooden beds. If John stood in the centre of his cell he could span it easily in every direction, which made sleeping uncomfortable and exercise impossible. Not that John was really in the condition for much of a workout; he was unbearably exhausted and the roughly bandaged wound on his shoulder had become hot, weepy and sensitive to the touch - it was probably infected and was only going to get worse unless he got the proper medical treatment. The days were long, clammy affairs and the nights weren't much better - although John had said a silent prayer to no deity in particular when a spectacular rainstorm had cleared the air two nights ago.

He hadn't been so thankful to find large sections of the mine were now flooded to knee-height.

"How the hell are we supposed to work in this?" John exclaimed, pulling his foot out of the grey-brown mud with a pop and nearly losing his boot in the process. No one, neither guard nor fellow inmate answered him. "Just what I needed on top of everything else - trench foot," he drawled, leaning on his pick axe.

"Get back to work," the nearest guard commanded. John recognised him; his name was Delan or Dolan or something and he was a squat, round-faced man with a short fuse and the temperament of an particularly unpleasant wasp.

"Aren't you a little short for a Stormtrooper?" John grinned, frustrated and spoiling for a fight. For a military man he'd never been good with authority figures - especially when they were jumped-up, wraith-loving bullies. Of course, the reference was lost on the guard, who simply raised his weapon (gun-thing, not harpoon-thing) and repeated his instruction.

"You. Back. To. Work." Delan or Dolan said.

"I feel like one of Snow White's little friends," John said, and started whistling 'hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work we go,' as loudly as he could manage. It came as no real surprise when he was whacked over the head with a shovel.

oOo

For five days Rodney had ranted, raved, even screamed at Woolsey that they needed to go after Sheppard, guns blazing, to hell with 'diplomacy.' When that didn't work Ronon had quietly threatened Woolsey then stormed out, leaving a sizeable hole in Woolsey's office door, before attempting a one-man rescue mission. He was apprehended in the gate room by security and earned himself a night in holding for his trouble. In the end, it was Teyla who convinced Woolsey to send Lorne and his marines in after Sheppard. 

It took a two days to bypass the 'gate security system on the planet, then a further three days to locate the hidden prison camp and plan the raid. Rodney slept for the grand total of four hours during the whole ten day period.

And he knew it was counter-productive - he would be no help to Sheppard if he was practically comatose from sleep deprivation. But every time he closed his eyes he saw Sheppard - alone, hurt, facing torture and god knows what else, and he just couldn't keep his eyes closed any longer. 

He must have looked terrible; he couldn't remember the last time he shaved or showered. His hands trembled on his weapon and he was probably going to be a liability in the coming firefight but no-one - not even Woolsey - had dared suggest he stay in Atlantis during the rescue mission. 

It was a cruel twist of fate that he should be the one to find Sheppard half-way along a flooded mine tunnel, face-down in a foot of dirty water.

“Sheppard!” Rodney exclaimed. He threw his weapon aside, all thoughts of his own safety completely disregarded. He turned Sheppard’s lifeless body over and dragged him on to a splinted, raised platform at the edge of the shaft. “Don’t do this John!” Rodney said, his mind flashing back to the incident with Jennifer at Dr Tunney’s presentation. For the second time in his life Rodney was going to have to give CPR to save the person he loved from certain death. Statistically, that wasn’t even remotely probably but hello! welcome to the life of Doctor McKay.

“Wait, I don’t love Sheppard,” he paused. “I mean I can’t love Sheppard. I like Sheppard the appropriate amount.” Rodney tipped back John’s head and gave him two short, life-giving breaths. “I mean he’s hot and I’ve been attracted to him since...well, McMurdo, but he’s...Sheppard.” He placed his mud-streaked hands on Sheppard’s chest and started compressions. “I don’t ‘love’ him.” He grunted with the effort of giving the compressions and paused for a moment to activate his comms.

“Hello, anyone! I need help in the tunnels! I found Sheppard,” he screeched, before giving two more quick rescue breaths to Sheppard. Lorne responded, but the structure of the mine was interfering with the signal and Rodney couldn’t make out what he’d said. 

“Let's just hope he heard me.” He continued the compressions, his arms aching. “Because I haven’t slept in a week and they don’t tell you how tiring this is in the training. But I won’t give up Sheppard,” he panted, “not because I love you, because I definitely don’t love you, but because you’re my CO and my best friend,” he paused - two more breaths, “and yes I might feel some romantic attraction towards you - some strong, deep loving feelings of attraction and love - but that doesn’t mean I’m in love with you.” 

Another two breaths, more compressions. 

“It’s a preposterous idea. I’m definitely not in love with you,” Rodney stilled for a moment and looked at John’s unmoving form; his bruised face and torn clothes and wet, flattened hair and he imagined never hearing John’s ridiculous braying laugh again. He thought about a life where he could never look into John’s watchful green eyes, or race RC cars, or watch a bad movie or spend an evening drinking beer on the pier together and the loss and despair and terror of it all hit Rodney with such force he had to grip the muddy tunnel wall to stop himself from collapsing into the water. 

He just didn’t just love John Sheppard; he was soul-destroyingly, all-comsumingly, head-over-heels in love with him. 

“I’m in love with you,” Rodney said. “I’m totally in love with you.” He gave two more breaths and started the chest compressions again. A gun fired somewhere down one of the tunnels and was met with the whomp of Ronon’s blaster. “So don’t you dare die, you hear me? I will never forgive you if you die, you idiot,” two breaths, “because I can’t do this without you.”

With a sudden gasp and a body-wracking cough, John jerked to life. 

“McKay,” he groaned, “am I dreaming or dead?”

Rodney pulled John into his arms with a sob of relief. “Neither.”

“You’re really here?” John reached up with a shaking hand and cupped Rodney’s cheek. “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“I’m really here,” Rodney replied, “and everything’s going to be alright now.” As if to prove his point, Ronon, Teyla, Lorne and a team of marines piled into the flooded tunnel. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Nothing was going to be alright. He was in love with Colonel John Sheppard and he was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta - all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> This has only taken me like a year to update. I’m so sorry. I’ve bought eternal shame on my house.

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed, all typos are mine!


End file.
